


Like Blossoms in the Dust

by yersifanel



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Magic, Memory Loss, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-01-27
Packaged: 2019-10-17 11:21:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17559437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yersifanel/pseuds/yersifanel
Summary: He was forgotten by everyone, until there was nothing more than forgetting himself. Just as there was no more Alexander Hamilton, those he used to know got their memory of him back, and Thomas Jefferson was not going to rest until he made things right.(A fan sequel to As Glory Turns to Dust)





	Like Blossoms in the Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [As Glory Turns to Dust](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11359656) by [roseclipping](https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseclipping/pseuds/roseclipping). 



> This is a fan sequel to "As Glory Turns to Dust" by Roseclipping, you need to read the original story otherwise this one will make no sense, it's also pretty good, so, go, go! then come back here :)
> 
> JFC this took longer than I expected and kind of got out off the word range I was planning as well, but I'm satisfied (ha!) with the results. This isn't the first Hamilton story I write, but it is the first one I actually publish, not exactly what I was planning, but plans change and here we are. 
> 
> Please Enjoy!

There was a buzz in his ears and a fog over his eyes. His head felt light, like floating, yet heavy as if filled with lead. In his state he felt almost in peace, but it was not enough, it could never be enough, not after everything that had happened, everything he had lost, so he drank again, one after another.

Alexander Hamilton, it was not going to be enough until there was no more Alexander Hamilton.

After so many drinks he had little to no coordination left in him, and when reaching for his glass, he almost missed it. Still, his clumsy fingers managed to get to it, he was shaking, but ignored in favor to glup the liquid down his throat. It hurt his tongue and it burned his throat, and that was… fine.

The bartender gave him a look he couldn’t identify, asking something. Alexander carelessly slapped a few bills on the counter, it should cover everything he had so far and more, it was enough, it had to be enough.

It was a little annoying when the man instead of taking the money and leave him alone, came around the counter, pocketing the money back in his jacket and pushing him out of his seat, making him fall onto the dirty floor.

“Dude, that’s enough, we’re closing, get out man,”

He scolded, but before slurred words were heard by anyone he was hauled off the floor by another man and dragged outside the building.

It was dark, he tumbled around the sidewalk and just kept going, he needed another drink.

Walking was a terrible idea, the floor was moving, and he was not able to properly keep track or where he was going, but he kept going. He was tired, his heart broken, his mind foggy, and it was not enough, he wanted to stop feeling, he could remember the pain, his pain, and that wouldn’t do.

“Man, you got a dollar?”

He stopped, there was a homeless man extending his hand towards him, asking for money, and he frowned, “You got a drink?”

The other man shrugged, taking an almost full bottle of a clear liquid from his belongings. Alexander stood straight, or perhaps not so much, he couldn’t tell, but he took a large bill from his jacket and offered to the man, “I’ll give you this for the bottle.”

“It’s cheap stuff dude, I won’t give you change.”

“That’s fine.”

And it was indeed cheap stuff, he wasn't entirely sure it was just straight up rubbing alcohol or paint stripper, and he didn't care either, so he drank and cursed, and drank again. At some point he stopped and sat on a bus stop, and kept on drinking, and drinking, until he was gasping and there was nothing else to drink. He closed his eyes, and inhaled, then exhaled.

A bus passed him, and then another. A couple more and he stood up, taking spare change and hopping onto the next one, the driver gave him a look, worried, but the bus was practically empty, so the driver shrugged off his presence and let him be.

The sun went up, the day was miserable, just like he felt.

Somebody was shaking him, he reluctantly opened his eyes, the driver was watching him, he looked slightly annoyed, yet concerned.

“Sorry amigo, you can’t stay here.”

“‘mkay…”

He hopped off the bus, almost falling on his face. His vision was blurry, he was so tired.

The area didn’t look familiar, and now that he thought about it, nothing did. Why was he walking? He couldn’t remember. He wanted to rest, but he kept going, in between alleys and deserted streets, the wind was cold or perhaps he just felt cold, it didn’t matter.

He stumbled into a woman, “Msorry…”

“No te apures mijo,” the woman said, and he understood that, although he had no idea how, it sounded different from the language he spoke in his head, yet familiar, “Ay Dios mio, ¿estás borracho? Que pena con este muchacho.”

“Sorry,” he repeated, and stumbled backwards into a wall, “Fuck, I… I’m just gonna…”

He let himself fall to the floor, and inhaled, it hurt, he exhaled, it hurt even more. He whined, why he did it hurt to breathe? It was fine, it didn’t matter.

“Mijo?”

“Mso’ry…”

For everything, although he couldn’t place what “everything” was supposed to be, but… that was fine.

He was done.

The woman tapped his forehead with a warm hand, and gasped.

“Ay Dios mijo, ¿quién te hizo esto? No, no, no…” the woman gasped with a tone full of worry, but he wasn’t sure what she was saying, the language was vaguely familiar, but he felt no need to make any effort to understand it anymore, there was no point, for some reason it didn’t matter. Nothing did. “Mijo, mijo ándale, contéstame.”

Somebody was choking and gagging, an unusual sound of desperation parted around the fog and he lifted his gaze towards a young woman at the door of the side of the house he was slumped against. Perhaps she was related to the other woman, the one holding his face with such dedication it confused him, because he didn't know these people, he didn’t know anyone and nobody knew him.

“¿Ma, amá que chingados es eso? ¡Apesta a miseria!” she all but screamed, her eyes watering, her otherwise soft features were cortorned in distress. She stepped closer, a hand covering her nose and mouth, while the older woman, her mother, ran her hands over and over his hair, talking too fast for him to even try to understand.

“¿¡Pues que crees?!” the older woman gestured exasperatedly towards him, “¡Hablale a Luis y Neto, que lo lleven adentro!”

The younger woman nodded and went back inside, was he left alone with the mother but not for long, because her daughter was back with two men not five minutes later. The gave him one look and quickly rushed towards him. Shouldn’t he be fighting them? He was just so tired. He vaguely realized he was being dragged inside the house, across a hallway and into a room where the men hauled him to a chair. It was comfortable enough, so he just sank into it and let his head fall against the backrest, exhausted.

“Ama, what’s wrong with him? Do we call the police?” one of the men asked.

A glass of water was pushed against his lips, and he automatically took it and drank a bit. He didn’t realized his throat was dry until that moment, not that it matter anyway. He wondered if he could sleep now, just… close his eyes and not wake up, he was too tired to wake up.

“Nombre no, eso no va a servir de nada,” the woman said exasperated. “Neto traeme una cubeta, dos tandas de agua y una de alcohol, Ofelia! Ofelia prepárate un ramo, andale!”

The younger woman, Ofelia was her name? She knelt before him, tilting his head towards her and looking into his eyes, she cursed in the language they were speaking, ran her hands over his temples and quickly let go of him, hissing.

“Quema chingado, he’s burning,” she said, “Luis, tenemos lavanda? Necesito lavanda, sauco, pirul, romero…” She looked again into his eyes, and he blinked, exhausted. She gasped, “Cempasúchil, también.”

The older woman was back, a matriarch perhaps? She had a weight on her that could be very easily belong to a matriarch. She made him bend forward, his elbows on his knees, one of the men - Neto? - He pushed a bucket between his legs and backed away, behind the chair.

The matriarch stood before him, pushing his head low, a stream of water hit the back of his neck. He tried to get up, and the woman pushed his head back, “No mijo, aún no.”

She moved her hand back and the two men gently held his shoulders down. Ofelia knelt besides him, she looked concern, it was strange, these people didn’t know him, nobody did.

“Amigo, can you tell me your name?” she asked in english, and he blinked.

He opened his mouth to answer, and nothing came out. He tried again, but his mind came out blank, it was unsettling, except… no, it really wasn't.

“I don’t know,” his voice answered, barely a whisper. He didn't know, and it didn’t matter, not really.

Ofelia looked sad, devastated even. He didn’t understand why, “It’s… it’s gonna be ok… Just breathe, ok? Close your eyes if you want.”

For what?

The matriarch was chanting something, if sounded vaguely familiar, like a prayer, but in that language he understood but didn’t know. The back of his head and neck were completely soaked now, he felt faint. His stomach churned, and he gagged.

“Don’t fight it mijo,” the matriarch advised, “Sácalo todo, sácalo ya.”

He closed his eyes, he felt nauseous and his chest ached terrible, and he almost felt forward if not for the men holding him. Ofelia pushed his head down and he gagged again, the water hitting the back of his neck became too much and he vomited into the bucket, heaving as he fought for air and vomited again. There was black in the bucket, a dark tick substance, like wet soil. He kept on heaving, and this time he managed to keep his eyes almost open, the black soil splatter into the bucket, he has vomiting the black soil.

He whined, it was too much, it hurt so much.

The matriarch gently pushed him to rest on the chair, then there was a damn cloth all over his face, smelling strongly of alcohol. His chest hurt, his throat was burning, why couldn’t they leave him alone?

“Hey, it’s okay amigo, I know it hurts,” said a male gentle voice. He opened his eyes to see the blurry figure of a young man in scrubs looking at him in concerne. His fingers were over his pulse point, and then looking at his watch, “You’re sick, but we’re gonna help you, va? It’s gonna be okay.”

There was a candle in the table behind the matriarch, it was white with a red cross on it, she lit it and prayed. Ofelia cleaned his face with the alcohol soaked cloth again, and gave him water, he used it to clean his mouth, and spit black, he still hurt.

Ofelia asked him to stand, and he did in shaky legs, and the guy in the scrubs helped him. Ofelia was chanting, her eyes on him, the matriarch holding the candle. Both men, the one who helped him stand up, and the one behind the chair, were responding to the chants as if on cue. Ofelia had a bouquet of herbs and flowers he had never seen before in her hands, except the lavender, that one he knew, but not the yellow and orange flowers, they were pretty. The bouquet was dripping water and she ran it all over him over and over again, the scent of herbs and flowers sooted him a little, there was incense being burn in the room as well, it was a woody pleasant smell, and the smoke was white.

He gagged again, falling to his knees and holding the bucket, another wave of wet black soil made it up his throat, and his body convulsed, retching with excruciating pain and a horrible, almost inhuman sound.

“Es mucho,” Ofelia said, her hands trembling, “How long? Oh Lord, please have mercy…”

He spit black in the bucket, and inhaled as if he were drowning, he was, oh God he was drowning. He gasped, but there was no air in his lungs, he couldn’t breathe. He was fighting, he wanted to breathe… right? He wanted… no, not really, he didn’t want it, there was no point.

He stopped fighting.

“No!” yelled the guy in scrubs, “Jesus Christ, no, give me space, chingado, I need space!”

“¡Muévanse! Luis ayuda a tu hermano, ¡ándale, ándale!” ordered the matriarch.

Hands on his face, on his shoulders and neck, on his chest, it hurt too much, but if he stopped fighting, if he just lay there and take it, it would pass, yes... he was too tired, but it was going to pass now that he had stopped fighting, it will hurt for only a little longer, and he would finally rest.

“Puta madre...”

“¡Neto, Neto haz algo! He’s drowning!” Ofelia was dreaming, but it made no sense, how could he be drowning in dry land? It didn’t matter.

There was nothing else to do, but closing his eyes and forget.

 

*****

 

Thomas woke up screaming.

He was awake and he kept screaming and he couldn’t seem to stop. He took a pillow and smashed it against his face to muffle the sound, he couldn't stop screaming. Why was he screaming? He inhaled, gasping in pain, and exhaled.

“Alexander!”

He got up fast, so fast he ended up tangled in the bedsheets and falling to the floor in a mass of limbs, but in the end he managed to get up. He shaked away the fall and looked around, there was no one there, and… no, where was he? Where was Alexander?

He closed his eyes, they went to bed, it was… it was their anniversary, and then…

“Shit, I’m sorry, man...I don't usually go for one night stands, I don't know what happened–”

“It's okay. I’ll get out of your hair.”

And then Alexander was gone, and Thomas let him, Thomas just stood there and let him.

“Oh no, no, no, oh no, no!”

His movements were uncoordinated, dressing up in autopilot and with no sense of he was doing. He was panicking, it was bad, this was all kinds of bad and—

Thomas stopped.

Alexander was gone, Thomas forgot him, he promised he will never forget him, but he did so anyway.

The logical, rational part of him was whispering reasurances: it wasn’t his fault. He had no way to fight against a curse, he had lasted for five years, he had done everything he could, but at the end he had no control, and when the day finally came it didn’t even hurt, because he just… forgot.

But logic be damned, he had lost Alexander. He had been robbed from his memory by the artermatch of a woman with the power to change reality. It had been cruel, it had been gradual, and in the end it had not only been Alexander’s lost, but everyone his memory have ever touched.

How long had it been since that morning when the cold came and Alexander left? How much time was stolen from them? Five years, five years of them, robbed, destroyed? Where was Alexander? Where?

He moved again, rushed involuntary. A moment later Thomas wa pouding at James’ door, his breath coming is gasps, he was so angry and scared at the same time, he was a wreck and it didn’t matter because he lost him, he lost him. He was taken away from him, without regard or care, in a faul and terrible way.

“Thomas? Thomas what’s wrong?” James guided him inside, his eyes wide and concerned and Thomas had no idea where to even begin.

“Alexander,” he said in a rush of emotions, “I… Hamilton, my Alexander, I can’t find him, I–” he tried to explain, but James just gave him a confused look and he felt even more hopeless.

Of course he couldn’t help him, he had introduced James to Alexander almost every other week for five years and he never, ever, remember him. Of course he wouldn’t. Alexander’s memory was lost from everyone, everyone but Thomas, until it was lost him him as well.

“God…!”

He collapsed, and if not for James rushing to support him, he would have hit the floor immediately.

“Please calm down Thomas,” James asked of him, softly, always the serenity in the storm that Thomas had never been able to master. “When was the last time you saw him? I…” James sighed, pulling out his phone and going over it, a deep frown on his face “I thought I had his number…”

Thomas stilled, “His number?”

“I haven’t seen the guy in a long time, I…” He looked at Thomas, “You’re scaring me, why are you talking about Hamilton as if you were two were an item?” he asked, “Never mind that, just… let’s calm you down, yes? Breathe with me.”

“You know Hamilton?” He stood straight, firm. “You remember Alexander Hamilton?”

James looked even more confused, but mostly concerned, “Yes?”

“From where?!”

“College!” he said quickly, pulling his hand up to made a motion for Thomas to calm down, “From College, we worked together for a while after, and you two used to work together, until he left, I think.”

“Left,” Thomas deadpanned, his fear morphing into anger. “He didn't left, everybody just forgot he even existed!”

James closed his eyes and pointed to the nearby couch, “Sit down, please?”

“No, I—” Thomas put his hands together, inhaled and exhaled, “I lost Alexander, I need to find him, do you understand?” Inhale, exhale, “Please James, he… he was cursed — yes I know this sounds insane, bear with me — he was cursed and everybody forgot him, everyone but me,” he pointed to himself, “Until… until I did too.”

“That… sounds pretty far fetched, Thomas.”

“I’ve been together with Hamilton for five years, James,” He focused his gaze on his best friend, “And now he’s gone.”

Madison bit his lower lip, perhaps debating his friends state of mind and what to do about it. But Jefferson was not so hopeless anymore, because James remembered Alexander Hamilton, kind of.

“Five years,” James mumbled, his expression pensive, then slowly changing, a haunted horror look reflected on his face, so much it made Thomas sep back, “Lord almighty…”

“James?”

His friend’s eyes were on him like a whiplash, “You… you introduced me to him, every single time, and… then again, he was there and...I never remembered him, not once, why… Thomas, what the hell?”

Thomas shouldn’t be happy with his friend’s haunted look, but it was a tiny strand of hope and Thomas was going to lash himself to it with tooth and nail.

“You remember him!” Thomas shouted, “Yes, yes, you talked, every time, and forgot him, because he’s cursed James, cursed by a witch to be forgotten, because he pissed her off, and it worked, everyone forgot him, but I didn’t!” he pointed to himself, “I found him, and… it doesn’t matter.”

He deflated, and James took his arm, “Thomas?”

“James, I lost him, I forgot him too, and he left.”

Madison closed his eyes, waited a moment, and then looked at Thomas, firm and reassuring, “And now you remember,” He stopped for a moment, looking pensive, then nodded to himself, “and we’re going to find him, Thomas.”

James believed him, not only that, James remembered, and he was not leaving him aside, because of course James would never do that, even if he was confused. He was thinking of Thomas, more than willing to help him.

Thomas was shaking again, “I don’t even… I don’t even know where to being.”

James pulled his phone out again, scrolling across the contacts, thinking, he pulled up a contact and set the phone in speaker “It’s a long shot but… Hello, good evening Burr.”

“Madison, how can I help you?” responded the voice on the other side of the line

“I need to ask you something, it’s important: have you seen Hamilton recently? Or know where I can find him?” he asked, carefully looking at Thomas.

“Hamilton?”

Thomas felt his chest sting, he wanted to yell, but James held a hand up to ask for silence.

“Yes, Alexander Hamilton.”

Burr made a sound, “I don’t think I have seen him recently, not since…”

“Yes?” James prompted, and Thomas wanted to scream again, he was usually more patient than this, but no, today he could barely keep himself together, let alone be patient.

“When Burr? Since when! Just tell me, it doesn't have to make sense, I promise it’s fine, tell me!”

“Thomas, calm down,” James chastised, but Thomas just wanted to scream.

Burr coughed, aware he was on speaker now, “A few years ago? I think, around the time when—” he sighed as if collecting his own thoughts, “When he came into my office asking why there was someone else on his office and I asked him to leave, because I forgot he worked there.”

“You forgot,” James pointed out.

“That he worked with us, yes,” He sounded middle embarrassed, so he probably was very much so and questioning his sanity already, but Thomas didn’t care.

“You forgot him, not just that he worked there, you forgot everything about him,” Thomas explained, exasperated, “Just like Washington forgot about him, so much for that father figure…”

“I don’t think Washington would… ah...forget him? Very unlike him, yet…” Burr tried to defend the senior lawyer, but stopped, “Is… is that why he stopped talking about him?” he groaned, “I apologize, I’m… not sure what is going on.”

“That’s fine, you remember, that’s all I care, talk to you later!” Thomas said quickly.

“Wait, Jeffer—!”

The call was cut short by Thomas, and he gave the phone back to Madison wearing an almost manic look on his face, “If you remember, and Burr remembers… then other people must remember too! So that means the curse might be no more, I just need to find him, and I will.”

Thomas turned around, then stopped, almost making Madison, who had been attempting to follow him, collide with his back, “Thomas, you are in no state to wander the streets, let’s rationalize this.”

“No, I’ve lost so much time already,” he said, angry. He he never been this angry before, he was angry at the witch, at forgetting, at losing Alexander, and at himself for everything. Being angry let him focus more than being heartbroken, so angry he was going to be.

“Let’s go back to your apartment, do you have a picture? We might need to call the police.”

“I don’t know? Maybe? Wait... I do, I definitely do!”

James arched an eyebrow, “That doesn’t actually gives me an answer Thomas…”

“Give me a second…” he was trying to remember taking pictures, and then he just knew. They did take pictures, but Alexander wasn't fond of them, because even in pictures nobody could remember him, and it always made him felt worse. But Thomas had some, he was sure he took a least a few more when Alexander wasn’t looking. “I do, I have pictures,” he said more firmly “Why?”

“Missing person report,” James answered, a collected calm the Thomas envied at the moment, “He is lost, after all.”

“Lost,” his eyes prickled, and he was still so very afraid, but not hopeless, “but… but not forgotten.”

 

*****

 

The Clinic was buzzing with the beginning of the day, the place never really sleep, no Urgent Care Clinic really did, even when they would close for a few hours and then start again, being next to the ER and the Hospital itself would do that to your workplace. John didn’t mind, having this much workload allowed him to focus, and helping people was a second nature to him.

“Laurens, is Garcia in yet?” asked his supervisor, peeking her head into the small breakroom.

“Not yet Dr. Drew, but it’s still early and he’s just getting back from vacations, he’s probably right around the corner,” he justified, his co-worker was not usually late, but sometime grapple with being right on time.

“Just let him know I got his School schedule and I’m setting his work rotation so it doesn’t overlap with it,” she commented, “Please?”

“No problem!”

She nodded and left, not five minutes later a tired looking man walked into the breakroom, looking as if he had not had slept in a week. It was not an unfamiliar scene, but John always knew the story behind it.

“Hey Neto,” John greeted, “Drew’s got you schedule, she’s looking into it.”

“Thanks,” his friend said, and yawned, “Jesucristo, I need coffee.”

John motioned to were the cups were, clean and ready to use, “Rough time?”

“Terrible,” Neto mumbled, “Mom found this guy a few days ago…” he grimaced, “It was bad, John, I’m pretty sure he was gone for a good minute or two...”

“Gone?” That caught John’s attention, “What do you mean? Is he dead?”

Neto’s family was not the average one, John was familiar with the overall practices of what they did because he had been friends with Neto for over three years. They got closer and eventually Neto invited him over, where Neto’s mother insisted on “swipe” him, because he was carrying some weird energy or something of the sorts. It was a surreal experience, but it let John knew more about those practices Neto’s family carried.

Old magic, explained Neto, and to this day he was still making an effort to wrap his head around it. Just go with it man, it’s hard to explain.

It would be easy, to say that magic didn’t exist, but he had seen Neto and his family do things that otherwise had no explanation, eventually he started believing with the evidence before him.

“He was dead,” Neto got his coffee and sat besides John at the table, “I managed to resurrect him, he was drowning and I swear to you, he spit back a goddamn lagoon after that, I’ve seen something like that before, but not so intense, I have no idea how this guy survived this long.”

John bit his lower lip, “Is he okay now?”

“Not even close,” Neto sighed, “Mom and Ofelia are taking care of him, Luis is looking into it as well, I didn’t want to leave in case something happened, but he’s just not waking up now,” he closed his eyes, “If things get worse, I’m gonna bring him here.”

“Do you think regular medicine can help him?” John had seen Neto act fast in emergency situations, both of them were trained nurses, they knew what to do. But the things Neto’s mother and sister fought were not of this world.

“To get rid of what’s poisoning him? No,” he confirmed what Laurens was thinking, “But maybe to out the water that keeps coming back to his lungs out of nowhere.”

“That sounds pretty bad,” John grimaced upon imagining it, “What’s his name?”

“No idea,” Neto shrugged, “The dude can’t remember it, told you it was bad.”

“Well drowning in your living room sounds bad, not remembering your name sounds like head trauma,” John pointed out, “IDs on him, anything?”

“I did check for trauma, he had no external injuries, he was pretty out of it, but being cursed would that to you… and No IDs, just cash,” he shook his head, “Looks like he’s been living under the radar for a while.”

“Damn.”

Neto finished his coffee and strained his scrubs, ready to work, “He had a picture in his wallet with some other dude, looks like they were together or something, cute couple, I was going to check with the missing persons reports later, maybe someone is looking for him.”

His friend pulled out his phone, and then passed it to John to show him the image he had taken of the picture of the man he had been talking about, John took the device and looked at it curiously.

Alexander Hamilton was staring at the camera with a confused expression while Thomas Jefferson held him by the chin to make it took at the upper angle of the lense, taken by Jefferson with his phone most likely.

The world around him went silence, he didn't register the moment he let go of his coffee cup or Nato’s curse when it hit the ground and broke into pieces, nor his worried calls while John stared at the picture before him. His friend, his dear and friend Alexander, his first serious relationship, one of the few people he loved more than anything in this world.

“Sit down,” Neto pushed him down, towards a chair, “Madre Santa, John? John talk to me, please.”

His didn’t trust his voice but he made an effort to speak, “I-I know,” he coughed, “I know him, I… I forgot about him? How? It makes no sense, it’s just… Neto, Neto I know him, I know who he is!” Neto was taking his pulse and looking into his eyes, nurse mode on immediately, it made John felt mildly irritated, “Neto!”

“You know him, yes, I heard,” Neto confirmed, “You also look like you’re about to faint, man.”

John wanted to scream, not faint, “I forgot him!” he said, angrily, “I forgot everything about him and now... “

Neto stopped fussing over him, straightening his back, “Now you remember.”

“Yes!” he all but shouted, “But… but why did I forget him?”

Sitting back once again, Neto sighed, “Because he’s a cursed man, John, remember when I told you it was bad? It’s really bad.”

John was shaking his head repeatedly, “This is not right, I need, I… I need to make a call, or ten.”

He got to his feet, going over his locker to pull out his phone. Alexander was living with Eliza last time they spoke, that was years ago, but John had seen her many times, she had not even mentioned him once, it was crazy and he had to talk to her. And there was Thomas Jefferson, in the picture with Alexander, he had to talk to him as well to know if he had seen Alexander, recently or not.

He turned around to face Neto again, “I have to see him, please!”

Raising his hands in a calming motion, Neto nodded, “I will call my sister and tell her what’s going on, just, calm down John, ok? It’s gonna be okay.”

“You said it was bad!”

“And it is!” Neto insisted, “But we’re going to make it better ok? He’s alive John, that’s a blessing already.”

He closed his eyes. His hands trembling, he was scared and he was angry. He pushed those emotions down, it was not the right time, not when Alex needed him. He had to make it right for him. It felt almost cheap, considering he had not even remember him until a minute ago, but it didn't matter, he would make things right.

 

*****

 

There were voices around him, quiet, whispering. They were talking about somebody, he had no idea whom, nor did he care. He was too tired, and therefor just lay there. Perhaps he should be grateful the surface he was on was soft, and he was grateful, he would give thanks eventually, once he stopped being so tired.

His chest hurt, his stomach churned, and he was up and heaving again. Someone pushed his head down, a bucket was right there and he coughed water tainted black, vomited wet soil, and gasped for the air he was missing.

“It wasn’t as bad this time...” someone familiar said, the younger woman from before, Ofelia. “Just let it out, come on…”

Shaking his head, he pushed the bucket away and Ofelia took laid it on the floor, making him lay down again. Why was she helping him? He had no idea, he… why was anyone even looking at him? He was no one, and he had no one.

“That’s not true,” Ofelia cleaned his face with a cold cloth, it smelled of alcohol like the last time, “You are someone, and we’re gonna help you, si?”

“W-why?” he had nothing to offer, not even a name.

Ofelia sat back on a chair next to the bed, leaving the cloth aside and smiled softly, “Because you need it, now rest amigo, just sleep.”

He did.

 

*****

 

Eliza was shaking, she kept her hands clasped together to hide it, but she wasn’t so sure if she was being successful or Jefferson was choosing to not mention it. Her eyes kept looking around, and she found Alexander everywhere, in subtle and not so subtle ways.

There was a picture above the fireplace, Alexander was not looking at the camera, his hair in a loose bun, a pen held between his lips and another in his hand, he was scribbling on a notepad while sitting on the steps of the entrance of the very apartment complex he had been living — with Jefferson — for five years after she… after she forgot about him.

There were other things, like the books over the coffee table that Eliza was sure were Alexander’s, or the journals tucket in the bookcase of Thomas’ office, and those were only the ones he had not put away. Thomas had boxes, several of them, neatly filled with many journals and writings, all of them in Alexander’s handwrite, while some of them were typed, but no doubt carried his voice.

“I couldn’t understand why I had this, but it didn't bother me as it should” Thomas said, his voice carried an angry coating to it, “Why do I have clothes and shoes too small for me in my closet? Why do I have books I couldn't remember getting? Another laptop, another toothbrush, blankets that carried some scent familiar yet unknown… I didn't move anything, I just…” he gesture at the picture over the fireplace, “I didn’t bother me, until I remembered.”

Eliza saw him pace around, taking the picture above the fireplace in his hands and grip the frame so tight she was sure he would have broken it if not for a bit of self restraint left in him. She understood was he was feeling, perfectly well, because she had been there too.

Years ago, when Alexander vanished from his memory. He had been her boyfriend, they were living together, and she forgot him. She now can recall seeing all his things in the apartment, but it didn't matter, it was little to no concern for her, she just tide everything up, packed the things that didn't belong to her, and got rid of them eventually. Now she can remember the pictures, the books, the journals, clothes and other things that were Alexander’s, now lost after she dropped them of at goodwill all those years ago.

Eliza could see many things now, including the fact that Thomas was hurting, because Thomas held Alexander’s affection until there was no one else, and then lost him as well, unable to even recall what he had lost.

It was cruel, it was unbelievably cruel.

She understood. She had have three years with Alexander, and just like Thomas’ five years, they were stolen by a curse cast by a resentful, awful woman. Lord almighty, she always thought of witches as better, if they were real they had to be better than that, right? Better than this level of petty. The terrible things men have done to women labeled as witches could not, and should never be justified. Eliza felt insulted, such power used to do harm, it turned her stomach and made her want to scream.

But she didn’t.

“Updates?” She asked Madison, who was looking at his friend with visible concern. He turned around to face Eliza before he spoke.

“The police has kept contact, but have found no leads, they have send his information to Hospitals in case he turns up in one,” Madison looked pensive, “He might use one of Thomas’ credit cards, he used to carry one, if he does they can trace it.”

“It’s hard to keep your bank account when people keep forgetting you and thus losing your paperwork,” Thomas said in the same haunted yet angry tone as before, “So I setup an account in my name for him to use, if he didn't interact directly with anyone then they could vaguely remember his existence, not his name although, he always used a pseudonym…”

Eliza wanted to say she was sorry, she remember the last time she spoke with Alexander, they fought over the fact he had no job, and now she knows better, he didn’t lose his job, it was taken from him, and he didn’t stop looking, just… nobody remembered him. She screamed, they fought, he apologized, and took a walk, then Eliza forgot him.

It wasn’t fair, Alexander’s legacy have been erased, a punishment far greater than the mistake he made, but that awful curse had robbed Eliza of something precious too, and he could see in Thomas’ eyes how the same thing have been robbed from him as well.

Every person in Alexander’s life have been robbed of the time and memories they shared with him, every single one. It was a tragedy.

“We will find him,” Eliza said, stepping closer to Thomas, her eyes traveling to the picture he was holding, “And we will make this right.”

Thomas put the picture back, and didn’t answered, but he nodded and that was as much as a confirmation that he had listen to her than anything else. He was barely contain his anger and frustration. If Madison’s worried look were anything to go by, Thomas was at the edge of his self control. She knew he could be ruthless, merciless even, Alexander had said as much, and while part of her was wary of his reaction, another part of her wanted him to do something and make the person who took so much from them pay.

The thought was unsettling as it was comforting.

 

*****

 

He wanted them to stop, even if they were trying to help, he just wanted everything to stop.

Ofelia had been kind, and her mother — the matriarch — Piedad, even more so. They explained he was very sick, someone had done something very bad to him, that he couldn’t stand it anymore, and it was eating him from the inside, they had to purge the sickness and mend him. Magic they said, very dark and mean spirited magic was hurting him.

Perhaps he should be questioning their sanity, but for some reason he knew they were telling the truth, he just knew. Part of him was grateful for their well meaning intentions, but he was just so tired to even try to keep up.

“I’m sorry mijo,” Piedad said, sympatrically, “You don’t deserve this.”

“Perhaps I do,” he said to himself, and Piedad heard him, shaking her head and trying to encourage him to stand up.

“No, I know you don’t,” she assured him, she turned back, where her youngest son and eldest daughter, Luis and Ofelia, were making another bouquet for him.

They explained their craft to him once he was coherent enough. The plants were tied to spirituality, they were meant to swipe away the dark binds holding him, the water poured at the back of his neck was to wash away the damage, the process was to cleansen, but it disturbed the cursed nested in him, making him sick in order to expel the venom.

Vomit black soil was unsettling, or it should be, but to him it was just tiring. The worse was when the curse fought back and he found himself drowning in black water, from inside out, his lungs filled with it until Neto would push it out and literally breathe air into him again.

They wouldn’t tell him, but he was sure that when he stopped fighting, it had been really over, if not for their intervinance in snatching him of the jaws of death.

“It’s fine hermano, you look much better already,” Luis said in a kind voice, “We just gotta make sure all goes away, so it doesn’t hurt you anymore.”

“I’m just tired…”

“Ya, I feel you.”

Still, he stood up and closed his eyes, Piedad prayed and chanted, Luis and Ofelia chanted back in the same coordinated, known pattern. Ofelia swiped his body with the buquet, this time it had more yellow flowers than the previous times. When she was done she gave him the bouquet, and he held the it and sat down, then the water hit the back of his head. His fingers found purchased in the buquet, it was better than nothing, he could feel it building in his chest, the stabs of invisible knifes, hitting from the inside out, the pain in his head and the inexplicable sorrow in his heart.

Black soil and murky water made their way out of him, it burned his throat and it made him shake like a leaf, it hurt too much. He vaguely felt the tears running down his face with the sweat and the water, he spit blood at some point and tried to get up.

It was too much, he just wanted to stop.

“Hey, hey, hey, please, Alex look at me…”

A gentle hand tilted his head up, and he found the eyes of another guy in scrubs knelt next to him. Neto was close, checking his pulse and asking him questions, he felt the revolution back and quickly Neto pushed his head down so he could spit more cursed soil and water.

Alex, the man called him Alex, but… that wasn’t him, he was nobody.

Black soil, murky water and red clay and packet into one, he continued heaving over and over, with the soft encouragements of the stranger at his side, until Piedad was done and he was just sitting there, a shaking mess. The bouquet in his hands was torn to shreds and he felt so very tired.

“Hey, Alex, look at me, please?” the strangers asked, “Alex?”

He looked up, and frowned, “How..?

“John, John Laurens, remember me?”

No, that wasn’t the question he wanted to make, so he asked again,

“How’s Alex?” John’s lower lip trembled, he looked so sad, and he felt bad of being the reason he made this man sad, it wasn’t right. “I’m sorry.”

“No, no, don’t be, you didn't do anything wrong Alex, ok? Don’t be sorry.”

Neto was back at his side, and he let himself be looked over again. This time was less painful than the last, this time he wasn’t fighting to breathe, and while he felt lightheaded and exhausted, it could have been worse.

“Can…” he coughed, spitting red clay into the bucket, “Can I lay down?”

Piedad nodded and Luis helped him to his feet along John, he let himself be guided to the room he had been sleeping and gently leid the torn buquet over the nightstand with the others he had been given, unsure of why he was keeping them. Perhaps because he had nothing else, and he was sure that Ofelia and Luis made those for him, thinking of him, even if they didn’t know him.

He laid on the bed, and John sat on a chair next to it, visibly upset.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and John looked like he might cry again.

“I’m just glad I found you,” he whispered. “It's been so long…”

He sighed, “I think you have the wrong person… I… I’m sorry I’m not him.”

“You are,” he said, firmly. “You just… can't remember.”

“I’m no one.”

“You’re Alexander Hamilton,” he repeated, “Believe me, nobody should have forgotten you to begin with, and… and now, God, this mess… I’m so sorry Alex, I’m so sorry…”

Unsure, he offered John his hand and the other man took it, he wasn’t sure why he was comforting John, but he had nothing to lose, so he let him think he believed him, if anything just to not talk, he was too tired to talk.

His chest hurt.

 

*****

 

Thomas wanted to perhaps think that things were turning around for the better, because Eliza received a distressed call from John Laurens, Thomas was aware Laurens used to be Alexander’s closet friend, hearing him shout in distress at the other side of the phone line while Eliza tried to call him down brought him no satisfaction.

At some point, he heard his own name, and Eliza gave him the news: Laures found Alexander.

He was in bad shape, way out of town and didn’t remember anything about himself, it seemed that what the curse did to everyone around Alexander had just turned back into Alexander himself, who now was barely alive thanks to the effort of a strange, kind latin family…. that also happened to know magic?

Thomas was not even going to pretend that surprised him. He just woke up from being cursed to forget his lover and just found that said lover had forget everything, even himself, because of someone’s magic doings, he had no trouble believing there was more to magic out there than that.

What he was not prepared to encounter, was Alexander’s almost dead eyes.

Eliza and Laurens were crouched before an exhausted looking Alexander, who was sitting on a sofa near the window of the house. Eliza was talking softly, she even looked into Thomas’s direction and gently told Alexander that all of they were happy to see him, and that they missed him very much.

“I’m sorry,” Alexander said in a small voice that Thomas identify as the tone he used when confused and embarrassed, “You got the wrong guy.”

“No,” Thomas said immediately, walking over while taking out his wallet to show him the picture inside it, the same picture Alexander carried in his, “Alex, I’m Thomas, they guy in the picture, we… we were living together before you forgot, and I’m so sorry you had to to through that on your own… I shouldn't have let you walk away, I’m so damn sorry...”

The oldest woman in the room patted Thomas in the back, “My name is Piedad mijo, can you tell me what happened here?” she asked, direct to the point, “Do you know this is not normal, right?”

Thomas looked towards Alexander again, but there was no recognition or will to fight there, so he had to be strong for the both of them, he nodded and stared at the woman’s eyes.

“It’s a curse,” he explained, “A few years ago, five or so, Alexander was cursed by a witch to be forgotten, his legacy turned to dust, and thus no one will remember him… and it happened, eventually, one by one, people forgot him, from one minute to another, he was no more in their minds, expect mine… we got together after that, and we had been until recently, when… when I forgot him too.”

Eliza and Laurens looked alarmed, she said, “He… he just took a walk, and when he came back I had no idea who he was…”

“He called me,” Laurens recalled, “I… I didn’t know him, I didn’t remember knowing him… but now I do, now everyone does.”

Piedad said something in rapid fire spanish to her sons and daughter, and they spoke some more before their daughter came forward, “My name is Ofelia, these are my brothers Ernesto, and Luis.”

“Pleasure,” Thomas said out of formality.

She nodded, and then looked at Alexander, “We think the curse that is affecting you no longer holds power over others because it has turn back into itself, making you the sole carrier, it’s… not good, but we can help you alleviate the worst part.”

Alexander blinked, “The worse…?”

He started coughing out of nowhere, it was a terrible sound and it hurt Thomas to even pervise it, he quickly ran back to him him and patted his back, offering his handkerchief when it was obvious he had to spit something, and he did. An ugly black mass with some red spots that made Thomas fear for his life.

Piedad and Neto were at Alexander’s side immediately, asking questions about how he felt, after a short moment they took Alex to another room where Thomas was witness of one of the most surreal scenes of his life, yet he had no doubt it was happening. Piedad and her children were chanting, doing something with a bouquet of herbs and flowers, as well as water, then Alexander was vomiting more of that black goo into a bucket, until he looked less like death warmed over.

Alexander then stumbled in what Thomas presumed was the bathroom and came back less pale, but looking extremely tired.

“I need to know everything you can tell me about this curse,” Ofelia asked Thomas, “So we can keep looking for a way to heal him…”

So Thomas did. He recalled what Alexander told him, about finding the witch, pissing her off and punching her when she insulted his mother, then he stumbled out of the werehouse cursed and in panic, losing everyone and everything until Thomas found him, and they were together, living against the curse, until they weren’t.

As he spoke, Alexander was observing him him with mild curiosity, but he made no comment. He would smile to Eliza and Laurens every once in a while, but otherwise his attention was completely focused on Thomas, it gave him hope that perhaps there was a way to help Alexander remember.

So he made the offer.

“Would you like to come back to our apartment?” Thomas offered Alexander, “You stuff is there, everything, it may help you feel better to be in a familiar place.”

Alexander frowned, “But I’m… not really the person you’re looking for.”

“You are,” Thomas assured him once again, “You… are just a little lost.”

Eliza and Laurens offered him silent encouraging smiles, and Alexander, after hesitating a moment that felt like an eternity, accepted his offer.

Thomas offered him his hand, Alex hesitated, but took it.

 

*****

 

He couldn’t explain why he accepted to go with Thomas, it was an impulse, careless, and it wasn't going to give Thomas what he wanted. The person Thomas was looking for was no more, and he… he couldn't even grasp the idea of this Alexander being himself, the more he thought about it, the less sense it made. He was aware that there were many, many things he couldn’t answer, simple things like his name, his parents, what he liked or disliked, there was nothing, but that knowledge, or lack of thereof, didn’t bother him in the sightless.

What bother him was lying, givin Thomas the illusion he could be his Alexander. He wasn’t.

Still, he allowed him to call him Alex, just to respond to a name, he had none but that fact was inconvenient, so he let them call him however they wanted. It held no meaning nor attachment to his persona, just words to respond to.

The apartment was beautiful, carefully decorated and with many items that gave away insight of the inhabitants of the place.

Nothing was familiar.

His eyes landed in a picture above the fireplace. The face was completely alien, strange, and he felt detached from it, yet he observed it with curiosity. It was the shape of the face he had seen before, in the reflection of the windows and in the mirror of the bathroom, but there was nothing familiar about it. The person in the picture had bright eyes, sparkling with something he couldn’t name - Knowledge? Interest? Love? Hope? - he was writing, he was living.

Himself? he was just there, his presence made no difference.

“Alexander?” Thomas’ voice echoed, and he didn’t registered the call, just the fact that Thomas had spoken in his direction, so he looked over after a long moment. Thomas was his host now, he shouldn’t be rude by ignoring him or missing what he was saying.

“Yes?” he asked, tentably, feeling out of place and with a growing sensation of wrong while answering to name that didn’t belong to him, it made him feeling sick.

“I… wanted to show you a few of your things…” he pointed to the direction of the hallway, “And… you can stay in the guest bedroom if you want? We used the same room, but I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable…”

“I’m not him,” He said softly, his voice tired, “It’s not right I take the space he occupied in your bed, it’s… just not right.”

Thomas grimaced, “I will never make you do anything you don’t want Alexander, if you’re going to listen to anything I say, let it be this.”

He looked at him in the eye. He could tell him right there that he wanted to leave, that he didn’t want to give him false hopes, he could just walk away. Yet, he found himself noticing that he didn’t want to leave, not yet. It was a foreign sensation, wanting something that wasn’t for the world to just stop.

“Guest bedroom,” he said after a moment, “Can I take a shower?”

“Of course, this way,” Thomas motioned again to the hallway and he followed him a few steps behind. He remained in the hallway when Thomas entered the master bedroom, out of respect of the fact that he didn’t want to see the person Thomas missed and placed on him while he was not, he couldn’t tell.

He stood by the doorway, Thomas was in the walk-in closet, going back and forward while taking clothes from on side of the closet and laying them on the bed. They looked comfortable, not disabled or torn, but they clearly weren’t new.

“Green or grey?” Thomas asked, and he looked up.

“Excuse me?”

“Would you like the green pajamas or the grey ones?”

He didn’t notice the way Thomas was eagerly expecting an answer, his fingers closer to the green folded clothes. It was an odd question, and he blinked twice before answering.

“Grey,” he deadpanned, and something crossed Thomas eyes quickly, disappointment, but he covered it well, quickly and politely nodded, letting the grey bundle alongside the clothes on the bed and taking back the other one to the closet.

Oh, it seem Alexander liked green.

He frowned, did he like green? grey? He just answered without actually thinking about it, he would have been fine with whatever, yet felt slightly bad for not giving Thomas the answer he was looking for.

He felt afraid. What was he doing? He wasn’t Alexander, there was no Alexander, he couldn’t steal that space, it was not for him, nothing belong to him and that was fine… he was fine.

Turning around and leaning against the wall of the hallway turned out to be a better alternative than watching Thomas choose and lay out clothes for him to use. It didn’t bother him when Luis and Neto gave him clothes, but for some reason now that Thomas was doing it, it felt wrong.

Still, he said nothing, unsure of why.

Thomas was polite, never overstepped, he didn’t even came too close to him out of respect. He showed him the guest bedroom, the bedroom, gave him a couple of fluffy towels and even laid the pijamas on the bed along underwear and socks, putting the other selection of clothes away in the closet before leaving him for alone.

He stood in the middle of the strage bedroom, holding two towels, with no idea what to do next.

Shower, right.

He wondered if the master bathroom had more evidence of Alexander’s life plastered in every tilde. Alexander probably had a preference for shampoo or soap. He looked in the bathroom and found a set of shampoo, conditioner and soap with lavender as the main component. He liked lavender, at least eh one in the buques Ofelia and Luis made for him, he could appreciate that much.

While he was showering, the unwelcome thoughts came back with a full force. Did Alexander liked lavender? Had Thomas put this as a generic use for guest or was selected by Alexander and left here, now for him to use? He felt sick again.

Leaving against the tildes, he felt his chest constrict and found himself short of breath. In an effort, he got onto his knees in the shower and held the wall, then spit black water into the drain.

This was wrong, he made the wrong choice. What was he thinking? He couldn't be what Thomas wanted, and Thomas didn’t deserve being hurt just because he was a stupid, ignorant nobody.

He couldn’t be Alexander, he couldn’t do that to Thomas.

Desperate, he looked around, stepping out of the shower and opening every drawer, until his eyes landed in a pair of closed black box. Inside was a shaving tool, the sharp razor taunting him.

He ignored it.

Instead, he pushed aside the razor and comb and found a pair of scissors underneath, he took those and looked at himself in the mirror. The face of a stranger stared back at him, no recognition in his eyes. He was dripping wet, and looked as if he were about to keel over and die, or worse, like a walking fresh corpse.

A sigh escaped his parted lips and he took a strand of hair and cut it, then another, and another after that. He repeated this until the sink, and the floor, before it where covered in dark brown hair. He stopped at some point, running his fingers through his now short hair, and felt a miniscule sense of satisfaction.

He went back to finish his shower afterwards.

 

*****

 

It took every ounce of self-control Thomas had to not gasp when Alexander walked back into the living room after his shower. His hair had been chopped short, and chopped was the most adequate definition as it had no shape or form, it was carelessly done, most likely as an emotion response than convenience.

“You cut your hair,” Thomas pointed out the obvious, and immediately felt stupid for doing so.

Alexander shrugged, although some uncertainty was shown on his face, “I didn’t do a great job, but it will suffice…”

Thomas considered it just a second, “Would you like to go to the barber shop tomorrow to make it even? You look nice.”

“I do not,” Alexander blushed, “look nice, I mean, I really don’t… but… yeah, if someone can make it less bad…”

Thomas sighed, shaking his head with a small smile, “Ok, you will look nicer after that, but it’s a nice look, it suits you.”

When was the last time he had seen Alexander with short hair? He couldn’t recall, probably because Alexander was used to have it long, tying it up in a ponytail when required or a bun, but only trimming it occasionally.

If this was an effort from the other man to mark how different he was from the Alexander Thomas insisted he was, it had effect but only for the ten seconds or so that took him to process it. He was Alexander, but he couldn’t remember himself, that thought made Thomas even angrier. He had his memory of Alexander back, but that victory was meaningless when Alexander had forget everything in turn, even himself.

“Dinner?” he offered instead, because there was one thing that even the lack of memory haven’t change, Alexander’s inability to remember when food was necessary.

The other man consider it for a moment, then nodded, “Do you need help?”

“Setting the table,” Thomas indicated to the dishes already out but not placed, “Do you like tomatoes?”

“I don’t know,” he answered, “Does he liked them?”

“You never actually gave me a straight answer about it,” he said truthfully. Alexander probably liked to mess with him about it, it was mostly a joke, but now it was an opportunity, “Would you like to try them?”

Alexander looked unsure as he stepped closer, but nodded. Thomas sliced the tomato, and served a couple of the slices in a plate, handing it to Alexander in the most casual way possible. He didn’t want to make it seem like a test, because it was not, he just… he just wanted Alexander to be comfortable around him, and perhaps it will also help him remember.

“There’s salt and pepper on the table, if you want,” he added.

Thomas turned around and continue making the salad, he heard Alexander taking a seat on the table, and using the both salt and pepper grinder. For a moment nothing happened and Thomas wasn’t sure what he was even waiting for to being with.

“I think…” Thomas turned around to face him, finding Alexander making a face down as his half eaten tomato, “If it weren’t so mushy…”

Oh, that can be solved.

“It’s ripe, maybe overripe already, I was going to use them to make a sauce, here, wait…” he went back to the fridge and got another tomato, bright red but firm, not quite ripe yet. He washed it and made another two slices, giving them to Alexander, who looked unsure but still bite into them.

Alexander’s face changed, something close to a smile, “I like this.”

“Then let me switch for firmer tomatoes for the salad,” he answered, cherishing the moment that he managed to make Alexander feel better with something as mundane as to check if he liked tomatoes or not.

What he was surprised to find out was that he didn’t like coconut ice-cream, because he could recall Alexander liking it. Still, he managed to hide it well, perhaps he changed his mind, it was fine, he remembered Alexander liking some food and now he didn’t, it was not a problem, Thomas won’t make a problem out of it.

He went back to a safer, neutral topic instead.

“The barber it’s usually fine with walk-ins, especially when there’s not many people appointed, but I will call in the morning to make sure he has time to receive us, just to make sure,” he said while Alexander was collecting the dishes and insisted in loading the dishwasher himself, “We could get lunch after that.”

“I don’t want to impose, I don’t have much money,” Alex said making a motion towards the guestroom, “Just the cash in the wallet.”

“Your wallet, and you do have money, it’s…” he sighed, “The account it’s under my name because it was a way to go around the curse, but I promise, it’s yours Alexander.”

Also, he never said he was going to charge him, if anything, Thomas wanted to get things for him with his own money, but he was not about to assume the other man was fine with that, when he was still struggling to even accept he was Alexander.

“Is not, because… I’m… not him?” he said, but it was uncertain and small, Thomas felt his heart breaking all over again, but he check himself at bay, only walking closer but not actually physically imposing himself over the smaller, the last thing he wanted was to scare him.

“You are, but,” and he sighed, “if you are not ready for that just yet, just… let me tell you that he would like you to have those things, he would no doubt offered them to you himself.”

It was unsettling to talk about Alexander as if he weren’t right before him, but if Alex needed that to come to terms with his own lost of identity, then Thomas was going to do whatever it took.

Besides, he wasn’t lying about what Alexander would have wanted. Alexander hated seeing hard working people in need, it was a blow to close to home. He also was scared of losing everything, and the worst part is that he did. But Thomas was going to change that, and he was not going to rest until it was done.

Alex looked unsure still, but he nodded.

“Thank you.”

“You are very welcome.”

In more ways that Thomas could explain to him with words, but he was going to try.

 

*****

 

The barber talked to him as if they had been introduced before, but mostly knew Thomas. Alex didn’t mind, the guy was really nice and made something nice out of his messy hair, he ven found himself close to smiling because he really liked how the cut turned out, even if he did felt strange with short hair.

Afterwards, Thomas insisted they walked around the plaza and had lunch, Alex was unsure what to make out of it, but went along.

“We could get something nice to eat, what would you like?” Thomas asked, he was fun to be with and caring, even if he had no idea what Alexander’s relationship had been with Thomas, Alex could see why the person they say he was would have liked Thomas.

The most interesting thing happened when they were eating in a bistro, where something in the food highly offended Thomas and he went on a ten minute rant with the manager while Alex tried to not laugh while drinking his coffee, only to have Thomas banter with him as well, but backing off once Alex was not sure what to respond.

Yeah, he could see what Alexander saw in him.

The day was fairly simple, the only thing he wanted was to get his haircut, but got what was basically a date with Thomas, the chance to see what Alexander’s life had been, and he liked.

But just when he was about to take Thomas’ hand, he backed up in fear. Althputh Thomas didn’t notice the abort movement, he did notice how suddenly Alex was upset and closing off, so he suggested to go back home.

He made a mistake, he let himself back into a false comfort, and it was not right. He wasn’t Alexander, and he shouldn’t try to be, it was wrong.

That night, he fell asleep with his chest hurting one again.

 

*****

 

As the days became weeks, Alex was less of a mess, but he was not really comfortable, and that was making Thomas really frustrated.

He didn’t remember, and nor did he pretend to remember for Thomas’ sake, with was very considerate of him, at least he was not getting into false hope about what was going on in Alex mind. Thomas gave him Alexander’s old journals and computer, and while Alex submerged himself in reading everything he could get his hands off, no recognition came to him.

“He really liked to write, didn’t he?”

Thomas was sure Alex had no idea how much it hurt every time he referred to himself as a different person, a person who was never coming back. But it wasn’t until another few weeks passed that Thomas lost it.

Alex came back from the bathroom looking sick and pale, but instead of letting Thomas what was wrong, he just waved it off and told him it was fine, he was dealing.

“It’s the curse again, isn’t it?” Thomas asked, and Alex shrugged.

“It’s fine.”

Thomas disagreed, “It is not fine!” He passed the room, “That fighting witch and her fuckign curse, how dare she? that damned woman should fucking burn for what she did, it’s not fair, it’s terrible and I can’t just let you suffer it, we should be happy, we were, and you should have your life and memory back, it’s not just—”

“I need you to stop!” Alex all but yelled, then caved into himself, holding his hands and not meeting his eyes, “Thomas, please… just stop.”

“But—”

“No, you don’t get it,” Alex looked at him this time, his eyes glassy with unshed tears yet angry with whatever sentiment was plaguing him, “I don’t want to remember.”

Thomas felt his stomach drop and a cold grip around his chest, “What?”

Alexander bit his lower lip, blinking back the tears in his eyes and stood as tall as he could, holding himself together even when it was obvious he was about to shake like a leaf in the wind. He looked over the room and then back at Thomas, his expression almost defeated.

“What happens when I remember?” He asked in a whisper, “you told me I was cursed to be forgotten, my legacy forever lost with one to even know I existed… and it was made so, forgotten by everyone... then everyone remembered, just as I forgot… and now what? Have you thought about that?”

“It’s your life, you don't deserve to lose it like this…”

“I’m scared, Thomas!” He shouted this time, “Don’t you get it? I’m terrified! What happens when I remember? What if I remember and then everyone forgets again? I’ll be dead and forgotten to the world while still breathing, I’ll be alone with my misery, if I’m even capable of standing it, until I end it myself,” he held his arms around himself, his eyes blurry, “that’s worse than dying, at least when you’re dead you don’t have to see how everyone forgets about you…”

Thomas stepped closer, unable to hide his worry at the way Alexander seemed to be coming undone at the seams. He held a hand, a silent request to get into Alexander’s personal space, but the other man shook his head and stepped back.

“I can deal with being sick,” he continued, “Puking black goo every other day it’s not as terrible if the alternative is to remember everything I used to be, then having it stolen from others… wasn't it what brought me all this to begin with? a legacy…”

“Alexander…”

“He was so focused in being somebody,” he said, once again as if Thomas had no spoken to him but about someone else, “his journals detail that, he wrote about how much he worked to be who he was and how all just… turned into dust in a moment, and when he was with you... “ he smiled bitterly, “He tried to just live… but he knew it was a matter of time until his memory vanished from your mind as well… it sounds awful Thomas…. living with the knowledge that you exist in borrowed time, and it will end no matter what you do, and you will see it happen.”

“That’s… we didn’t… that’s…” of course he knew Alexander worried, he was the only one to remember him, and it was perhaps his mistake to not notice it ran that deep.

Alex shook his head, pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes in an effort to stop the treacherous tears and compose himself, he spoke without looking, “I don’t want to be him, because this?” he lowered his arms, placing a hand over his mouth and coughed on it, then showed Thomas the black stains coating it, “I can live with this, it will kill me, but I will not be alone… if I become him and everybody forgets… it’s worse, because I will die without anyone caring at all.”

He closed his eyes, then looked as his hands with the same heartbroken eyes, “I don't want a legacy… I just don't want to die alone.”

Thomas reached him with three long steps and held him as hard as he could, resting his chin over his head. Alexander let himself be held, and softly rested his hands over Thomas’ back, sighing heavily, showing just how tired he was. Thomas on the other hand was having many troubles to not scream at panic, but he held himself together.

Alexander was dying, he said it as if that didn't matter, because for him the choice was between dying and dying alone, and he feared loneliness more than he feared death. Thomas wanted furious, but not with Alexander, no. He was furious with the witch that reduced his lover to this, a dying shell of himself.

“I’m sorry,” Thomas apologized softly, “I… I won’t insist anymore, ok?”

“...’kay.”

Thomas smiled, and held Alexander, feeling conflicting over everything. He was not going to insist on Alex remembering, at least for now. But he was not going to crop the subject.

He had a witch to hunt.

 

*****

 

It didn’t took much for Thomas to convince Laurens to support him in his decision to hand on do something about Alexander’s situation. He found him at work with one of the Garcia siblings with no problem, and Neto Garcia was willing to take them to visit his mother and talk, although Thomas suspected Neto knew he was not too keen on just talking, but kept that connect to himself.

Once they were back in the Garcia Home, he spoke to Piedad Garcia directly, while Ofelia, Neto and Luis were present as well. Laurens exchanged looks with him, then stood at his side, letting Thomas speak fist.

“Alexander can’t afford to lose more time,” he said with a cold calm that was a better alternative to his rage, “I’m very grateful for your help, you have saved Alexander, but he’s still sick and without his memory.”

“His memory is a whole issue I can’t address right now,” Piedad explained, “I need to make sure he’s not going to drown first.”

“I understand,” Thomas agreed, “But why can’t we just… take out the source of this fucking curse and call it a day?”

“Ah,” Neto said, not sounding really surprised.

Thomas pressed his palms together and against his mouth, his index and middle finger touching his nose. He was trying to wrap his mind around the fact that magic was not only real, it had many forms while at the same time having basic rules. It was not such a difficult thing to comprehend really, what bother him was not having enough knowledge to solve his doubts regarding Alexander’s situation.

“How can anyone have that kind of power?” He said, the fury is his voice barely contained. “Yes, Alexander pissed off a witch and he shouldn’t have punched her, but does it deserve this punishment?”

“Of course not,” Piedad answered, almost offended by the very idea, “But power corrupts anyone mijo, witches are no exception. This hag casted a curse in a demand of satisfaction against an offense, to this person it doesn’t matter if the punishment was deserved, justified, or adequate… people casting dark magic in a fit of rage rarely think consequences.”

Besides him, Laurens frowned. “It’s not the same to throw a punch because you’re angry than changing reality itself to punish someone for being stupid, that’s not even close.”

“I never said it was,” Piedad nodded, “The woman was angry and in rage casted a curse, it got out of hand, probably backfire on her too, and now we have to pick up the pieces, it’s a nasty piece of work, it makes me angry by just thinking about it.”

“Backfire on her?” Thomas asked because this was relevant, “In what sense? Because at this point that hag deserves more than just a fucking punch, and I want to deliver.”

Laurens nodded towards him, at least he was sure they were in the same page, neither of them were going to politely talk with the responsible of harming Alexander, being calm was not an option. It could have been, years ago, but now, seeing Alexander as a living ghost was more than enough evidence that they were past the point of being polite.

“She’s probably half dead already,” Piedad waved as if it were obvious, “You don’t cast such an unbalanced curse and walk away unharmed.”

“That doesn’t tell me anything, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Thomas closed his eyes, frustrated.

Ofelia raised her hand, “Let me explain, Ma.” Piedad motioned her to continue, and Ofelia spoke again, looking at Thomas and Laurens for their attention, “The curse Alexander carries was done as a form of retribution, and when you do that, the retribution has to be proportional to the offense, logical even, otherwise the Universe gets, well… cranky.”

“Cranky,” Laurens deadpanned, reflecting Thomas’ sentiment.

Ofelia shrugged, “Most trained magic people are not stupid enough to cast unbalanced forces, if you do it by mistake and the thing done is not that bad, then yes, you get a cranky Universe and and a mystical cuff on the back of the head so you learn to not be stupid… if you do it unproportional to the degree of harm, of being noticed too much, the Universe gets mad at you, and there are consequences.”

Neto continued, “Alexander’s curse was done for an specific purpose, crafted specially for him and to affect those linked to him, but it’s so obvious, it’s vulgar in how obvious it was, magic done like that can’t be sustained, you see, the limits we have are because everything related to magic is belief, and the belief of millions of people shape reality, giving it form and power. Reality itself becomes a force, and is not going to just sit there and ignore how you try to bend it, like a lion won’t ignore when you poke it.”

“Belief it’s probably how Alex was safe with you for so long,” said Ofelia, giving Thomas at least some sense of usefulness, “Your belief kept the curse at bay.”

The comfort that could have brought it was short lived by the fact that in the end, Thomas did forget. He tried to not be too bitter about it, “And those consequences you talk about? What about them?”

“La Paradoja,” Luis answered, “The consequences for careless, vulgar magic are known as The Paradox, you can’t change reality and not expect for reality to fight back.”

“If it’s unbelievable by many then it’s consider vulgar magic,” Ofelia explained, “A few people Alexander have not spoken to in years forget about him? Yeah, that can happen…. His closest friends and coworkers just not knowing anything about him from a moment to another? His attempts to introduce himself futile every time? Not being able to even keep his name in writing form, especially when he was known for it before? That’s not believable. It’s crude, vulgar magic and it bend reality in such a way there is no way the caster was not kicked in the face due sheer backlash.”

“And if that stupid child kept a habit of doing magic like that every time someone pissed her off, then you have multiple kicks in the face,” Piedad spoke again, “How did you say Alexander encounter her to begin with?”

Thomas frowned, “She said she was a witch and Alexander didn’t believe her, called her a fraud if I’m not wrong.”

“Yeah, what kind of pendeja does that?” Piedad huffed, “You don't seek people to believe you, they come to you because they are open to such knowledge, and if they don’t then it’s their loss, you move on and that’s it, bratty reactions out of pride never go well for us magic users.”

“There is no such thing as almighty or unlimited for our kind,” Ofelia stated, “Otherwise magic users would rule the world already.”

The four of them agreed in between varios spanish words. Thomas found all this interesting, he wasn't going to lie, but it was besides the point, because what he wanted was retribution for everything Alexander have lost, and for was taken from Thomas as collateral as well.

Five years… he was happy… and now…

“I just want to break the curse, if I have to turn the damn country upside to find the damned woman and—” he swallowed, he wanted to kill that hag, make her pay, but saying it outloud might not be the best thing, “—stop this, I will.”

“I’m trying to cleanse Alexander of the curse, it’s like a treatment, it takes time” Piedad explained, “Like I said, a nasty piece of work, it was not meant for him to survive it this long, so now it’s harder to fight back.”

“This long?” Laurens asked, nervios.

Ofelia sighed, “He should have gone mad years ago, it’s probably what the witch wanted… but he lasted, and once the last person that remembered him forgot, then the damn curse caved into itself, into Alexander, and now he is sick with it, it’s too big for one person to sustain.”

“It was casted on him from the beginning,” Thomas argued.

“Yes, but it was not for him to be touched by the implications, he was the focal point, and it expanded to those who knew him, who interacted with him, it grew like ripples in the water, and once there was no one else to touch, it folded back on him, but it didn’t minimize in the process, taking on that it’s like trying to drink an ocean, you will drown.”

“But we can prevent that from happening,” Piedad said quickly, “Every time he comes here? He's spitting back the literal manifestation of the curse, every time he does he's closer to full recovery, at least healthwise."

“He thinks he’s going to die,” Thomas ignored Laurens’ whine upon hearing that, but he understood his reaction, “He’s not fighting back because he’s choosing the lesser evil, to no die alone.”

Piedad sighed, saddened by hearing this, “If I weren’t treating him, yes, he would have died, but I won’t let that happen.”

“But that witch is still out there,” Thomas hissed, “I can’t tolerate that.”

Piedad turned around and in rapid fire spanish spoke with her children, they seemed to be arguing something important because Neto was protesting loudly, and he understood several words like “dangerous”, “risky” and the many times they mention Alexander. They discussed amongst themselves some more before turning back to him, Piedad talking.

“To force the curse to break, we can try and find the source,” she offered, “but it has to be someone very close to Alexander, I think you can do it.”

Laurens looked ready to intervene, and Thomas was not fighting over this, this was not a competition, “Why? I don’t do magic.”

“No, but your belief already helped him once,” Piedad explained, “You remembered him, for years, and now you do again, and it’s personal to you.”

“Very much,” Thomas confirmed.

“The things is, hermano, it’s risky, for you and Alex,” Neto explained, “Ma has been taking out the poison little by little, by forcing it out all at once it like breaking a dam, so we can’t do this without planning.”

Laurens spoke this time, “You mean… like that time he drowned?”

“We don’t want that to happen again,” Neto confirmed.

Thomas wasn’t there when that had happen, not even Laurens had been witness. At the time it had just been the Garcia Family helping Alexander out, even when knew nothing about him, and Alexander himself couldn’t tell them anything useful. Thomas didn’t want to think what would have happened if instead of that alley, Alexander had gotten the other way, forgotten and alone.

“I will do whatever it takes to help Alexander,” Thomas made emphasis in his declaration, “Please.”

Piedad looked conflicted, but in the end sighed as she nod to not just Thomas and Laurens, but her children as well.

“Ofelia, can you go over with them of what we will need from their side?” she asked of her daughter, and Ofelia agreed in a couple words in spanish, “Luis, you set them up, and we’re gonna need you here Neto.”

The three of them agreed, while Thomas and Laurens shared a look, this was their fight as well, and Thomas just had to believe they were going to be alright, and help Alexander be himself again.

 

*****

 

Something was wrong, Alex could sense Thomas’ hesitation as he sat next to him in the nook next to the windowsill. Alex had been reading as he had formed a habit of doing lately. He found solace and calm in reading, even in Alexander’s lost words, those only meant for him to let his soul heal in his loneliness.

He related to Alexander, even when scared to be him again.

“I have to tell you something Alex,” Thomas initiated the conversation, softly.

He sighed, having an idea of where this was going, “It’s about the curse, isn’t it?” Thomas nodded, “Tell me.”

Thomas took a minute, probably collecting his thoughts, while Alex sat with his back against the wall and his feet on the windowsill. Thomas smiled at him and then spoke.

“We believe that if the source of the curse is found and destroyed, you will get better, no more sickness, and perhaps even your memories… I know I said I was going to leave it alone but… I want you to be fine, even if you don’t get your memories back, I just want you to not be sick anymore… you don’t deserve this punishment Alex…”

Didn’t he?

Alex haven’t thought about it. According to Alexander’s journals, his own journals if he was really Alexander, a woman told him she was a witch and could even see into the future, and Alexander, fed up with her attitude, called her a fraud. He then felt afraid when she showed that she indeed had powers, but that was not the problem no.

She insulted his mother.

And so, Alexander punched her in the face, because if there was anyone he loved and respected more than life itself, was his mother, and no one insulted her because of him. In return, he was cursed to be forgotten, and at least his mother was no longer alive to be affected by such cruel and unbalanced punishment for his idiocy.

He wanted to defend his mother’s honor, he had not even looking for something for himself, he just wanted the witch to leave his mother out of their fight, and in turn he lost everything.

I don’t regret defending my mother, but I regret I was not smart enough to prevent my own slow demise. I lost Eliza, John, everyone, and someone day I might lose Thomas too.

Alexander didn’t deserve what he got, he probably deserved another punch in the face, perhaps two, but not what the curse. But he was gone, and in his place was Alex, just existing yet no living.

He had nothing to lose.

“What do you need me to do?” he asked Thomas, his voice soft and willing to help, “I… I will do whatever… perhaps is for the best.”

Thomas offered his hand and this time Alex had no hesitation in him when he took it.

 

*****

 

In preparation for the ritual they were going to perform, Thomas got Alexander’s closes friends to hold a white crystal with them for seven days. Eliza and her sisters, Laurens, Mulligan and Lafayette, ho also got in touch with Burr and Madison, and both agreed to help him with no hesitation, he didn’t even have to ask Washington, he man just took the crystal and nodded.

Ofelia prepared the sage for him, while Neto and Luis explained him what he was looking for.

“The black thing he’s been puking?” Luis said, “That’s the terrain where the source must be, land putrit from the curse, with the shreds of that witch, probably because The Paradox no longer tolerated her actions.”

Thomas didn’t care much about the fate of that witch, he just wanted Alexander safe, she could be rotting in a ditch for all he cared, as long as she never bother them again.

Neto helped him with words, just gave him the idea, and Thomas did the rest. Alexander was a master in writing, but Thomas new the art as well, and if words where what Alexander needed to be himself again, Thomas was going to them himself.

Before the ritual was ready to start, Alex came to him.

“Thank you,” he said and smiled, honestly smiled, for the first time in weeks, “For everything.”

“This is not a goodbye,” Thomas said, then held Alex and kissed him on the forehead, “Ok?”

“...Ok.”

Inside the house, Piedad, Ofelia and Neto were ready with Elx to start their part of the ritual, while outside Luis was waiting with Laurens and Thomas. Luis was looking for a signal, and as soon as it showed up, he was going to drive them to the location the signal take them.

It didn’t took long.

From the house, a bright white bird emerged, it was glowing and it sat on Thomas shoulder before chirping and taking flight once again. Luis all but pushed them into the car then drove, following the bird for what felt like hours, but probably was not, until they reached a warehouse district.

“Follow the bird! it will guide you to the location!” Luis said, and both Thomas and Laurens ran in the direction of the bird, at some point they took running in different sides of a wherehourse but following the guide nonetheless.

Thomas ran faster and left Laurens behind at some point. He was following the bird as it flew around the space between the warehouses until it reached one in particular. Thomas saw the creature circled the entrance until it decided it was not for it and flew inside via a broken window. for his part, Thomas quickly texted Laurens where he was, and then pushed the rusty door open.

There was not much to see, broken chairs and pipes covered in rust. The floor was partially broken and large sections, where plats had grow in the patches of dark dirt and clay. Thomas stood in the center of the place, looking above where the bird was perched in a railing, cooing loudly.

“So, here we are,” mumbled Thomas and looked around, he crouched and ran his fingers over the dirt. It looked like the stuff Alexander was constantly choking on, but dry.

The bird circled Thomas, then landed on his shoulder, gently poking him on the cheek to get his attention.

“Yes?” he asked patiently, still wondering where John was and why he was taking this long to follow.

Jumping off his shoulder, the little bird hopped a few feet until it was before a large bush of some kind of weed with some dry looking flowers. He moved closer and knelt before it, while the bird jumped on it and started picking it apart, trying to take as much as possible.

Thomas got the hint, and immediately took a bunch and yanked it from the ground. It made his hands burn but he kept on taking it apart, piece by piece, until there was only a small plot of disarranged dark soil and clay. The little bird peeked the soil over and over, digging, and Thomas followed it’s example, clawing at the soil with hands that burnt and he was pretty sure he had a few large bleeding scratches on his palms, but he ignored them and kept digging.

The little bird made a really loud sound, Thomas stopped and slowly lifted his right hand, holding a large handful of bloody dirt with a sinister looking doll staring back at him. It was soaked in blood, how could it be soaked when the ground was dry? No, it wasn’t. Upon second viewing Thomas saw the ground he digged was soaked from below, dripping blood with soil and clay in chunks from his hand. It smelled terrible, something rotten.

“I don’t… I…” the bird poked him hard in the leg with its beak, anchoring him in the process, “I know!”

Thomas sat on his haunches and took his messenger bag off, taking the from it the bottle of bottle of lighter fluid, the copal incense and the crystal shards he got from Alexander’s loved ones. With trembling hands he placed the doll back into the bloody soil and covered with the lighter fluid, crushed the copal and scattered over it, and finally made a ring of crystals around the thing.

His words… he had to chant his words.

"In the names of my ancestors, my beliefs, and myself, I call upon thee, oh Spirits of Old…” Thomas said it with everything he had, all the love, hate, fear and hope he carried, all of it in his voice and in the match he lit and set over to ignite the token, “Come forth, cleanse of all evil and injustice, and restore Alexander Hamilton to balance and health…” He declared imagining the man he loved as he used to be, before all this tragedy, “By our wills combined, so be it."

A terrible screech assaulted his ears, but Thomas kept his eyes on the fire and not the eerie figure emerging from the shadows of the warehouse, above him, in the corners of the broken ceiling. another screech, the same animal sound, and whatever it was flew and attacked Thomas with talons and hate, an unnatural looking owl was trying to break his sight on the fire, but he did not yield.

The little bird was suddenly an owl in itself too, white and bright. It pushing back the sinister looking one with its own talons and force. Over the fire was Thomas continue holding his sight, while the doll burned to ashes and smoke. The smell of dead was clogging his senses and he felt himself faint, and clumsily reached for the bag without breaking eye sight, taking out the the sage out and holding it near the fire, lighting it up.

The eerie owl screamed, and it was a woman’s voice what the creature produced this time. It sent a chill down Thomas spine and pierced his senses, but he held on, letting the sage fall onto the fire completely.

“I implore to those listening…. let Alexander Hamilton back to balance and health… bring him home…”

The scream was terrible, but the scent of dead was overcome by the copal and sage.

The fire extinguished in seconds, leaving grey and white ashes behind with black crystals, burnt crooked feathers and no trace of bloody soil or the cursed token doll. A white owl stood before him, but Thomas was not afraid, he knew this was the same bird the guided him here.

“Thomas? Thomas!”

He looked back, towards the entrance of the dusty warehouse and perhaps he had never been more relieved of seeing Laurens before, he looked like he had ran into a wall for some reason.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, frowning.

“The same as yours, apparently,” he motioned to the owl, “A fucking scary looking owl attacked me, it looked half dead and screamed like a woman.” Thomas nodded and slowly stood up, looking at the pile of ashes and noticed something strange on them, he knelt back immediately, “What is it?”

“Help me out,” Thomas all but ordered.

Laurens knelt at the other side of the pile and between the two of them dusted off the ashes away, along the burnt feathers and darkened crystals, finding beneat not the cursed soil Thomas saw, but regular looking dirt and what inmesticle was a few small but healthy looking white flowers growing when once the cursed weed stood.

“You found the source,” Laurens mumbled, “Alexander is going to be okay now.”

“Alexander,” Thomas gasped, and stood up, almost tripping over his own feet, “I need to make sure he’s safe!”

Laurens didn’t questioned him, just nodded. The white owl hoot once, before flying away, while Thomas and Laurens left together the dusty warehouse and the nightmare it had originated there behind.

 

*****

 

He’s in the Hospital

Thomas wasn’t exactly surprised when Luis told them that after Piedad did everything she could but the situation escalated and Neto had to rush Alexander into the Hospital after determining that it was too risky to have it there once things turned bad. It wasn’t surprising, considering what he just saw, but it still scared him.

Alexander was not breathing, again, when they made it into the emergency room, Neto had worked on him as much as he could and it had been the right choice. It took only a moment and by the time the medical staff was working on him, Alexander had coughed black water and blood by the goddamn gallon, but he was breathing again.

Dr. Drew had been in charge of stabilizing him, and Thomas suspected she new more about Neto’s family than she lead on, because she didn’t make too many questions, and just focused in treating Alexander, it reached the point they had to rush him to surgery.

But he was alive and breathing, and he was going to be fine. Thomas had to believe that.

It took too long, or it felt too long for Thomas, but once Alexander was allowed visitors, he was the first to be there, sitting at his side and he was not going to leave, they would have to drag him out and he was not going to let them.

He pushed that thought aside. On the bed, Alexander looked small, thin and pale, he had a few strands of hair plastered on his forehead and Thomas brushed the short strands up and away. His lips were cracked and he had bruises on his chest, but he was breathing, he wasn’t coughing black goo and water anymore, he was going to fine, just fine.

“Please wake up Alex,” he asked, not for the first time, “Please…”

The days passed. Eliza was the next to visit, right after Laurens, who was shadowing Thomas from the get go. Eliza didn’t say much, but there was a lot of love in the way she looked at the sleeping Alexander, Thomas had to respect that. Washington visited, and while he didn't say much, Thomas could see how much it was hurting the man to see Alexander like this, even more so with the reminder that he forgot him, if his guilt was anything like Thomas’, then there was a lot in that silence.

James was there for him, perhaps he was making sure Thomas didn’t keen over and die before Alexander had the chance to wake up. He didn't try to stop Thomas for blaming himself for forgetting, just reminded him that in the end he remembered, and did everything he could to help Alexander.

The Garcia’s did another check and Piedad was able to confirm that Alexander was on the way to recovery, at least physically he was going to get better in the natural way, there was no more black soil and murky water, not since Thomas destroyed the source token of Alexander’s curse. But she couldn’t assure him regarding Alexander’s memory. Before jumping to conclusion, they have to give Alexander time.

At some point, Dr. Drew declared that Alexander was making great progress and while he wasn’t waking up, he was visibly healing, and there was nothing medical preventing him from waking up, it was just… a matter of time.

So, Thomas waited.

Late, one night, he fell asleep against his will, he had been so tired, and tried to stay awake as much as possible, but sleep claimed him anyway. Groggily, he was awaken by the sensation of someone running their fingers over his hair, he was resting his arms on Alexander’s bed and his head pillowed on them, slowly he looked up to find Alexander, awake, looking down at him.

“Alex?”

“Hey…” he answered with a small smile, “are you okay?”

Immediately, Thomas sat up, “I should be the one asking you that! You almost die Alexander, I… I couldn’t let that happen, and I’m sorry you had to go over this again, I’m so sorry.”

Alexander blinked at him a few times, confused, “What are you talking about?”

“The black stuff in your lungs, it kept coming back and… Laurens and I hunted the source to put an end to this madness, I know you asked me to stop, but… I couldn’t.”

“The source?” Alexander narrowed his eyes.

“The fucking witch,” Thomas hissed in response, “and her fucking curse.”

Alexander moved to stip more confortably in the hospital bed, his hand looking for Thomas, who glady held it. “You… fought against the witch? Are you crazy?”

“Well, not really… I burned what was left of her, I think?” Thomas explained. “Apparently you can’t go around casting curses and changing reality without consequences… I just kind of finish her.”

“You could’ve been hurt, she could’ve curse you too,” Alexander argued, but Thomas interrupted him.

“But she didn’t, because she couldn’t, what she did to you was not normal, not according to whatever rules magic people have to follow, so there were consequences or something, it's a long explanation, the point is, what was done to you was wrong Alexander… a fitting punishment for disrespect was to be punched in the face, not slowly driven insane by being forgotten and eventually die, that’s an overkill.”

Alexander sighed with for what Thomas seemed the entire weight of the world, but didn’t contradict him. Instead he silently asked for Thomas hand and he complied, lazing their fingers together.

“Thank you,” Alexander said softly, and Thomas lifted his hand and pressed a kiss on the back of it.

Thomas held his hand for a long moment, and it danw to him that Alexander was not shying away from him, or protesting Thomas getting touchy, in fact was encouraging, so he looked at him in the eye before asking.

“Did it work?”

Alexander tilted his head, “What?”

“The thing… the ritual… your health is improving, but… did it work? do you remember?”

He didn’t receive and answer immediately, and Thomas felt that perhaps even with the curse gone, Alexander was never going to be himself again, and in a split second he prepared himself for that, at least Alexander was alive and well.

But Alexander just smiled at him.

“I do remember,” he said, tired yet calm, “It’s… it’s coming back I think, in pieces… but I remember you, I remember us.” And he held his hand tighter, his lower lip trembling, so he bit it to stop himself from crying, “I’m scared, Thomas…”

Immediately, Thomas moved to the bed and threw his arms around Alexander, whom in response held him like a lifeline. Thomas felt him shake with contained sobs, his head hidden against his chest. The sentiment was terrible familiar, it took Thomas back to the night of their anniversary, the night Thomas promised to never forget Alexander, but because of the cruel whim of someone unfit to hold power… he forgot him as everybody else had done.

The reminded soeur Thomas’ thoughts. Sundely he wanted to make the witch pay all over again, even when it was not possible, the hag was dead and was never going to come back, not after the Universe had made sure to put her down, and Thomas finished the job.

He pushed that aside, that had, that nobody, had no place in between his and Alexander’s future.

“I know you’re scared, and I won’t tell you to not be, it’s… it’s been hard, I understand,” he held Alexander’s face in his hands, “But I promise you Alex… you are not alone, and you will not be forgotten ever again.”

“You can’t promise that, not like last...” he stopped himself from talking, “It’s bigger than us.”

“I failed you once” he recognized what Alexander wouldn’t say, “but I won’t do it again. I can promise you that I will do whatever it takes to never fail you again.”

Thomas’ was going to hold his belief like a shield for the rest of his life it he had to, just to keep that promise.

Alexander closed his eyes, and while still looking upset, he nodded. He went back to Thomas’ embrace, Thomas held him close, he had seen many things he thought nonsense proven to be real, there was no way he could go back to what he used to be, and that was perfectly fine, because now he understood the world a little better, and was going to use that knowledge to defend what was his.

“I feel weird with my hair short,” Alexander said, taking Thomas by surprise.

Thomas kissed his head, “You look nice, you know that right?”

“I recall you telling me, even when I had it chopped with no shape or form at all…” he said, a little embarrassed.

“No matter, you look nice,” he assured, “are you going to grow it out again?” he asked, curios.

“Yeah,” Alexander got more comfortable laying on Thomas and closed his eyes, “fresh start.”

“Fresh start,” Thomas agreed.

 

*****

 

While the curse was no more, things didn’t magically got back to what they used to be. It was simply not possible, not with the scale of damage done by it.

Alexander’s relationship with Thomas was slowly but firmly getting back on track, Thomas being the closest person to Alexander for years, his lover, was not lost anymore. Day by day, Alexander recalled more about their time together, how and why they worked as a couple, he remembered why he loved him so much, and having that sentiment back was a treasure Alexander constantly tried to put into words, at least to himself.

The rest was not as easy. Reconnecting with his friends was, to simply put it, awkward.

John was practically vibrating every time they saw each other, constantly worried to say the wrong thing or made the wrong move, Alex didn’t appreciate his eggshell-walk but put up with it because Hercules and Lafayette were no better.

“Guys,” he said one night while having dinner with them, “I’m not going to break, and yes, you can pretend the last five years I was abroad or something, I’m not mad at you for forgetting, it’s not your fault.”

They didn’t seem convinced, nobody really was, but there was a silent compromise after that. Over the course of a few weeks, his friends were showing Alexander how much he meant to them by actions, subtle and noticeable alike, and Alexander felt comfortable in their presence, safe.

Washington sat with him in silence for what felt like an eternity, and then ambranced him with the force of a father finding his son after thinking him dead. It was more than enough for him.

He reconnected with the Schuyler sisters, Eliza always seemed to be reluctant of letting him go, and Alexander was calm in the knowledge that she loved him, even if there was no way they could be together anymore, not when they have changed so much, not when both loved other people now.

Alexander was trying very hard to be normal, but it very much felt like being back from the dead. At the office, work acquaintances would ask him what had he been, and he would spin the story about working overseas and coming back, while Burr was quick to support this elaborate cover and actibly made Alexander’s transition to be back on an actual full time job easier.

It was a process… and It was exhausting.

Sometimes, he would work for home not out of convenience, but because he had been hauled up in Thoma’s apartment… in their apartment… for so long that it felt safer. Still, he tried to get himself out of that habit, otherwise he would be scared the rest of his life, and he didn’t want to be tired or afraid anymore.

He wrote.

In his words he reflected all his emotions, the pain it had caused him to be forgotten, as if dead, yet still breathing. Be witness of his own demise without dying at all. He wrote about the things he lost, from the smiles he missed to the people dear to his heart. He used allegories in some of his writings, and blunt directs in others, and when his words of catarsis were laid before him in paper, he started again, until he was no longer afraid.

With his writings, Alexander felt himself healing. By acknowledging what had happened and the impact it had in him, he had a way to cope, it was not ideal, and perhaps he should seek professional help, but it was a good start to heal and let himself live again.

He still carried the distant fear of waking up next to Thomas, and be forgotten again, that was a fear constantly present, but Alexander was not going to let it rule him. Besides, Thomas seemingly knowing what he was thinking at those uncertain mornings, greeted him with acknowledge and love en his words and actions, and for that Alexander was forever grateful.

Alexander was learning to live again, and little by little he was succeeding. His name was out there again, and so were his words, he started getting attention and recognition again, and it was both a blessing and a a constant subject of worry.

He coped, he lived and he kept on walking, and at the end of the day, Thomas and Alexander would lay together, hold each other, and while Alexander was drifting into sleep, Thomas would remind him that they were going to be fine.

_You’re Alexander Hamilton, you’re alive, you’re important, you’re loved, and you will not be forgotten._

**Author's Note:**

> Translations:
> 
> Amigo - friend.  
> Mijo - son  
> Hermano - brother.  
> No te apures mijo - don't worry son.  
> Ay Dios mío, ¿estás borracho? Que pena con este muchacho - Oh my God, are you drunk? What a shame with this young man.  
> Ay Dios mio, ¿quien te hizo esto? No, no, no… - Oh my God, who did this to you? No, no, no...  
> Mijo, mijo ándale, contéstame - son, son come on, answer me.  
> ¿Ma, ama que chingados es eso? ¡Apesta a miseria! - Mom, mom, what the hell is that? Sticks of misery!  
> ¿¡Pues que crees?! - what do you think?!  
> ¡Hablale a Luis y Neto, que lo lleven adentro! - Call Luis and Neto, take him inside!  
> Nombre no, eso no va a servir de nada,” No way, what's not going to do anything.  
> Neto traeme una cubeta, dos tandas de agua y una de alcohol, Ofelia! Ofelia prepárate un ramo, andale! - Neto bring me a bucket, Ofelia! Ofelia prepare a bouquet, go!  
> Luis, tenemos lavanda? Necesito lavanda, sauco, pirul, romero... Cempasúchil, también. - Luis, do we have lavande? We need lavander, sauco, couch grass, romero, mexican marigold too.  
> No mijo, aun no - No son, not yet.  
> Sácalo todo, sácalo ya - Take it out, take it out now.  
> Es mucho - It’s so much.  
> ¡Muévanse! Luis ayuda a tu hermano, ¡ándale, ándale! - Move! Luis help your brother, go, go!  
> Puta madre... - Mother fucker.  
> Neto, Neto haz algo! - Neto, do something!
> 
> Author’s Notes:
> 
> Ugh, I can finally get my sanity back, I’ve completed this story! It’s done, and I hope you liked it.  
> I’ve been an active fan of the White Wolf’s World of Darkness game since I was very young, so one of my favorite set of rules for magic comes from Mage: The Ascension and Mage: The Awakening. Because of this, to me, the very idea of bending reality in such large scale without any sort of consequences just… does not compute.
> 
> Yeah, I understand and totally respect that the logic behind the curse was not the point of AGTTD (it was the feeeels, the angsty feels omg, such great angst) but my silly sleep deprived brain kept thinking “If I tried that in a chronicle, the paradox would kick my ass all the way to Thursday, twice.” so I finally gave up and surrender into the need to write like an over-caffeinated Dungeon Master. Also, I liked roseclipping’s AGTTD way more than I expected and I couldn’t leave it be, it hurt too much. I’M NOT SORRY.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the story. I'm @yersifanel at Tumblr if you wanna go and say hi.


End file.
